ACT ONE

Scene One

A deserted street, out of time, out of place. Night. Enter two SHADOWS. Their forms ripple over the set but no corporeal entities are seen. Music is heard. The Martinu 1st symphony, slow movement. At the entrance of the piano the dialogue begins.

SHADOW 1: As you may know, our agents have been informed of a duel to

be fought tomorrow.

SHADOW 2: Ah yes. Are you suggesting we dispatch gendarmes to prevent it?

SHADOW 1: To the contrary, the duel involves the extremist who has been such a....ah

nuisance for so long. Several parties have approached us to suggest the best

course of action might well be...no action at all.

SHADOW 2: Your point is well taken. Perhaps if the gendarmes were sent

elsewhere...a mistake, of course...

SHADOW 1: Of course.

SHADOW 2: (As they disappear) Do you think that might be an expedient solution?

(Enter PUSHKIN from stage right and GALOIS from stage left. They are hurridly walking in opposite directions and do not see each other. They collide at center stage, dropping the manuscripts each is carrying. In the ensuing scramble we hear a few words like:)

PUSHKIN: Izvenítye (Извините.)

GALOIS: Pardon.

PUSHKIN: Pazhályusta ( Пожалуйста.)

(They pick up the wrong papers and each continues to walk in the same direction as before.)

GALOIS: (After a few steps) Monsieur!

PUSHKIN: Oui?

GALOIS: I believe I have picked up your papers by mistake.

(They approach each other)

GALOIS: They don’t look very similar, do they?

PUSHKIN: It’s difficult to imagine how we confused them.

GALOIS: It must have been the drawings.

PUSHKIN: Yes, I see you doodle on your manuscripts also.

GALOIS: The style is remarkably similar.

PUSHKIN: Quite. Look at these two heads. they might have been relatives. Have you

ever considered becoming an artist?

GALOIS: No, never, have you?

PUSHKIN: No, just a diversion. Boredom, you know.

GALOIS: Well, if you will excuse me, Monsieur, I must go. I am busy tonight.

(He turns to leave without having exchanged the papers.)

PUSHKIN: Young man, you have forgotten somethiing.

GALOIS: Please forgive me, I am distracted this evening.

PUSHKIN: (As they exchange papers) GALOIS:

By the way, what is this? What language is this?

This?

Oh, this?

Russian.

Mathematics.

Poetry.

Algebra.

Mine. Mine.

GALOIS: Poetry? Are you a poet?

PUSHKIN: Some would call me that. Are you a mathematician?

GALOIS: I would like to think so. Do you know, my father wrote poetry.

I occasionally write verses as well, but it isn’t my talent.

L’eternal cypress m’environne;

Plus pale que le pale automme,

Je m’encline vers le tombeau.

PUSHKIN: (As if trying out the feel on his tongue)

Eternal cypress shades about me loom

More pallid than autumnal gloom,

My days, I know, approach the tomb.

GALOIS: It’s not very good, is it?

PUSHKIN: I’ve done worse in my off moments.

GALOIS: It’s not very cheerful either. I believe I have lost the ability to be cheerful.

PUSHKIN: Things aren’t going well?

GALOIS: They could be better.

PUSHKIN: You certainly aren’t very happy. What’s wrong?

GALOIS. Tomorrow. An affaire d’honneur.

PUSHKIN: Ah, very good. I’ve had hundreds myself. The cause, if I may?

GALOIS: I’m not really sure. A woman. I called her a whore.

PUSHKIN: Was she?

GALOIS: There is, no question about it. I think.

PUSHKIN: Then she shouldn’t have gotten upset.

GALOIS: One tends to forget logic in such situations.

PUSHKIN: I’d advise you to skip your affair of honor tomorrow.

GALOIS: There doesn’t seem to be a way out. I told the seconds

I wasn’t interested but the other party refused to hear of it.

PUSHKIN: Then flee the country.

GALOIS: I have no money.

PUSHKIN: Here. (He rifles his pockets, coming up empty-handed.) Nothing.

Poets feed off bread crumbs rather than gold pieces, I’m afraid...

But it seems so ridiculous to risk your life over a woman you don’t care for,

doesn’t it?

GALOIS: The height of ridiculousness.

PUSHKIN: Are you a good shot at least?

GALOIS: I’ve hardly ever fired a pistol in my life.

PUSHKIN: Hmm. May I offer some advice? If the limits are close,

it may be advantageous to fire before your allotted steps.

Then you may catch your opponent off guard. Is he a good shot?

GALOIS: I wish I knew.

PUSHKIN: Hmm. Then assume he shoots well. When receiving your shot,

stand sidewards toward him with your hand over your heart, like so.

Is your duel in the morning?

(GALOIS nods)

Then see if you can arrange it so you aren’t facing the sun.

Also, be sure you powder has been kept dry overnight.

GALOIS: I don’t have a pistol, yet alone powder.

PUSHKIN: I assure you, they are quite necessary in affairs of honor. You’d better get one.

GALOIS: You seem very knowledgeable about this sort of thing.

PUSHKIN: An expert.

GALOIS: Perhaps you could be my second tomorrow.

PUSHKIN: (Sighing) I’m afraid I have my own affaire d’honneur tomorrow.

GALOIS: A duel?

PUSHKIN: A duel.

GALOIS: A prostitute?

PUSHKIP4: A wife.

GALOIS: A doctor’s daughter, myself.

PUSHKIN: What?

GALOIS: Nothing. Tell me, did you care for her?

PUSHKIN: I think at one time I honestly did. But somehow the care got lost in the rest.

I can’t seem to find it now.

GALOIS: Doesn’t it seem ridiculous to risk your life over a woman you don’t care for?

PUSHKIN: The height of ridiculousness.

GALOIS: We’re repeating ourselves. Tell me, how did you fall into such an enviable situation?

PUSHKIN: I believe it started some time ago…

(During the previous, the stage has been set for Scene II. The drawing room of NIKOLAI IVANOVICH TURGENEV (not the Turgenev), circa 1819. TURGENEV, about thirty, is sitting at a small, round table. Also sitting at the table is a man called MASLOV who, like Turgenev, is about thirty. Pacing the room in obvious agitation is IVAN IVANOVICH PUSCHIN, known as JEANEAU. JEANEAU is about twenty. The scene fades in from the previous. PUSHKIN exits at the start of the dialogue. GALOIS watches from his position downstage.)

ACT ONE

Scene Two

TURGENEV: ...but you’re his best friend, by God. What do you think?

JEANEAU: Yes, I’m his best friend, by God.

That is the knot of the matter, isn’t it, Turgenev?

I am suspect as a link to him.

MASLOV: No one suspects you of anything . That is the knot of the matter.

You are presently anonymous. We would like you to remain so, simply.

TURGENEV: Precisely.

JEANEAU: And yourselves as well?

MASLOV: That is understood.

JEANEAU: (Sighing) You know I would sooner cut of my right arm at the shoulder

than divulge a secret common to us all.

MASLOV: Do all young men bask so in heroics?

JEANEAU: (Earnestly) But he must find out, as surely as the sun rises –

MASLOV: And in hyperbole?

JEANEAU: (Irritatedly) Once the damned journal is launched, Maslov -

TURGENEV: (Calmly) Once the damned journal is launched, Jeaneau,

we will continue to remain anonymous.

JEANEAU: Sasha is not a blockhead, Nikolai Ivanovich.

Even a blind man would see a change in my attitude toward him.

Once the journal is out, two and two will be a difficult sum compared to connecting the three of us.

MASLOV: Not if you remain ah, discreet. And not if you don’t get carried away by your metaphors.

JEANEAU: It would be easier to tell him now. He will find out soon enough in any case.

Think of the benefits of having Sasha with us.

TURGENEV: Benefits. Hmph. I confess I don’t see any. The Cricket may well be the greatest genius in Russia.

For us, he would be the greatest disaster in Russia as well.

With his diabolical gift for versifying, he is likely as not to scribble down all our names on

a…a napkin during one of his drunken debauches:

Turgenev and Maslov, they fought the Tzar,

MASLOV: With Jeaneau and Delvig, they were removed afar

(They all laugh uneasily)

TURGENEV: And what will happen to this precious napkin?

During one of his nightly excursions to the brothels, it will fall out of his pocket –

MASLOV: – to be picked up the next morning by the secret police.

TURGENEV: And pff! The game isn’t worth the candle. I tell you, the man has no control.

MASLOV: Nikolai Ivanovich is absolutely correct, you know.

To Cricket, a revolution is – how shall I say it? – a soiree.

One composes odes and shouts them from the rooftops.

One rails at the Tzar in the name of Liberty,

and in general makes a nuisance of oneself -

JEANE4U: Perhaps it is time we made nuisances of ourselves.

The people need to be incited against censorship and slaughter

and Sasha’s poetry is doing more to incite them than anything written in the last ten years.

MASLOV: That is precisely the problem you don’t seem to understand.

Granted, the “Ode to Liberty” and “The Village” are full of color and clever rhymes.

But when one gets right down to it, he is simply hurling insults

at Tzar Aleksandr. And it is not yet the moment -

TURGENEV: – nor the method.

MASLOV: I think it would not be a bad idea for the Cricket to be shut up

in Gottingen and fed for three years on milk soup and logic.

“You, your throne I hate.” “Arise, fallen slaves.”

Really, it could have come from a child.

TURGENEV: And children are dangerous.

JEANEAU: I resent that.

MASLOV: Resent what you like. His language is godsent;

his sentiments are common to us all.

JEANEAU: Are we then all children?

MASLOV: Some children learn the wisdom of silence at an earlier age than others.

Let him snipe the Tzar in public. Let him incite the masses.

TUGENEV: Let him deal with the secret police.

MASLOV: Let us proceed.

(A knock at the door)

TURGENEV: What the devil!

JEANEAU: I’ll get it. (He goes to the door) Sasha!

(A very awkward as PUSHKIN enters the room with two "women of easy virtue".)

PUSHKIN: (Leaning over to JEANEAU) What are you up to? I’ve caught you at last!

JEANEAU: Nothing a all...just an informal evening...Come in.

PUSHKIN: Why didn’t you tell me you knew Turgenev? Is this your secret society?

Don’t try to be mysterious, I beg of you. I assure you, it’s quite absurd.

JEANEAU: Sasha, why don’t you come in.

Bring the lovely ladies as well Nikolai Ivanovich,

you have some drinks I presume.

TURGENEV: (Disgruntled) I presume.

MASLOV: Such women in a gentleman’s home. Unheard of.

(TURGENEV goes to fetch drinks. As he does so, the ladies seat themselves on a couch with MASLOV.)

JEANEAU: You know, Sasha, Nikolai Ivanovich doesn’t approve of this behavior.

PUSHKIN: You know, Jeaneau, sometimes Nikolai Ivanovich is an ass of the most respectable convictions.

(TURGENEV returns, hands to glasses to JEANEAU and serves the remaining guests)

JEANEAU: Hmm. Turgenev’s forty degree cognac. Very angry.

PUSHKIN: No rum?

JEANEAU: When there’s no fish, a crawfish is a fish.

PUSHKIN: I’ll drink the whole bottle at one.

How much will you risk to see it.

A ruble a kopek? (Takes a bottle)

TURGENEV: (Annoyed) Cricket, in my house you will behave!

So as long as you’ve invaded, why not a verse for the occasion?

MASLOV: Splendid. Off the cuff. We know you can do it.

PUSHKIN: (Sighing) Of course. Cobblers make shoes to order; I fashion verses.

Let me see, what would be appropriate...? Ah, I have it. “Good Advice”

Davaitye pit’ i vyeselit’sa,

Davaitye zhiznyu igrat’.

Pust’ chern clipaya suyetitsa,

Hye nam bezumnoi podrazhat’–

TURGENEV: “Let us drink and make merry.”

Really, Sasha, would it not be possible for more originality.

“Let us play with life.” Slightly better, actually.

MASLOV: “Let the blind crowd muddle on. Their mindlessness is not for us.”

I say, some poet of the people.

JEANEAU: Let him finish, will you?

PUSHKIN: Thank you, Jeaneau.

Pust’ nasha vetryenaya miadost’

Potonet v negye i vinye

Pust’ izmenyaushaya radost’

Nam uli n etsa xot’ vo snye.

TURGENEV: Dissipation! Unbridled dissipation!

MASLOV: “Let our stormy youth drown in comfort and wine. Let deceptive joy smile at us, even if only in a dream.” I suppose we must forgive him his lack of years.

JEANEAU: No doubt you wish you were twenty again. Onward Cricket!

PUSHKIN: Kogda zhe unost’ lekim dimom)

Umchit veselya unix dnye

Togda u starosti otimem

Vse chto otimetsa u nye. *

(As the last lines conceivably contain sexual overtones, PUSHKIN should grab a woman)

TURGENEV: Not your best.

PUSHKIN: Not the best occasion.

MASLOV: Sex is lurking in everything you write.

“When youth in a puff of smoke abandons the joys of carefree days,

then from old age we will grab off her everything we can get.”

(The WOMEN giggle)

An obscenity. Good advice indeed.

JEANEAU: (Chuckling) For a moment I did fear one of your bagatelles on syphilis.

PUSHKIN: If you wish. Kogdá– ( Когда–)

JEANEAU: Spare us.

TURGENEV: Perhaps syphilis would not be a bad idea.

The clap at least forced him to complete Ruslan and Ludmilla.

Tell me, Sasha, are regular bouts with Venus your idea of playing with life?

JEANEAU: (With a hint of seriousness) Or death?

MASLOV: Can you win?

PUSHKIN: (Very tongue-in cheek) A discourse you request. Very well.

Over death I cannot win; the trump is fixed.

Therefore I do not oblige myself to worry about it.

Over life, the game is even. In that battle I am heavily armed.

TURGENEV: As usual, you play with words, Sasha.

PUSHKIN: That’s my job, isn’t it?

TURGENEV: Not in entirety. I don’t see any meaning.

PUSHKIN: A discourse isn’t enough. Meaning you ask for. Profundity. Very well.

I have a concrete proposal. The beautiful Semenova is playing the

Queen of Sheba at the Grand Opera this week.

I have fallen in love with her. She is ripe for abduction. The plan is as follows–

TURGENEV: Bozhe moi! (Боже мой!) Cricket, act your age.

MASLOV: He’s just being difficult.

(Offstage singing in a Germanic language)

JEANEAU: What’s that, do you hear it?

TURGENEV: Oh, it’s no one, just the old gypsy who sells trinkets in the market.

MASLOV: The fortune teller?

TURGNEV: The same.

JEANEAU: Let’s call her in.

(He goes to the window)

Grandmother! Have you got time for some divination?

VOICE: You’ll make it worth the while?

JEANEAU: A ruble we’ll promise; on posterity you’ll take the chance. Come in.

(He goes to the door and ushers in an old GYPSY WOMAN)

Well now, who’s to stake his destiny first? Cricket?

TURGENEV: Yes, Sasha, come on.

MASLOV: Yes, the choice is obvious.

PUSHKIN: (With a hint or nervousness) Why not? This should be fun. What do I do?

WOMAN: We need the table. Is this fine?

(PUSHKIN nods)

Sit.

(PUSHKIN sits as the others clear off the table. The WOMAN takes a small bundle of silk

out of her pocket and unwraps it to reveal a deck of Tarot cards.)

Here, take the cards – gently mind you – like an infant. You have the spirit?

Good. Breathe the spirit into the cards. The cards must be you.

(She gives the cards to PUSHKIN and allows him to hold them for a moment)

Now – how do you say it? – mix them. Like so.

(PUSHKIN begins to shuffle cards)

Ah mal’chik, (мальчик) I see you have touched cards before, yes?

JEANEAU: Gambling is his second profession. (With a significant glance at the WOMEN)

No, perhaps his third.

WOMAN: Have the cards ever read you before?

PUSHKIN: (Scoffing) Of course not. Life is to be lived, not read.

WOMAN: It is the thought of many. If you would rather not -

PUSHKIN: No, go on if it pleases you.

WOMAN: Very well. Will you pick a card to be you? A court card?

Perhaps, my young stallion, you see yourself a king?

The knight is it? Perhaps a card of the Major Arcana?

It is to be (spreading her arms)... as you wish.

PUSHKIN: I really don’t know what you are talking about.

And I certainly wouldn’t know what represents me.

It’s fantastical, really. Jeaneau, you pick one.

JEANEAU: For you? Well, if you insist.

PUSHKIN: I insist.

(JEANEAU takes the deck and, without looking, randomly picks a card. He hands it and

the deck back to the WOMAN)

WOMAN: The Magician.

(She places the cards at the center of the table. As she continues talking, she deals out

twelve cards, face up, in a circle around the Magician. She starts at 9 o’clock and proceeds

counter-clockwise. The cards are, in this order: 6 of pentacles; 8 of pentacles; 6 of wands

(reversed, or top of card facing WOMAN); 4 of swords; 8 of cups; the Hanged Man; 3 of

cups (reversed); 10 of swords; knight of wands (reversed); king of wands (reversed); the

Sun; the Fool.)

I see I am dealing with an unusual young man, yes?

PUSHKIN: You are not obliged to say so – but it is true.

WOMAN: So, Magician, you travel by foot, forth and back, village to shire.

You perform tricks – the actor, yes? – tell fortunes ,perhaps like granny herself.

A magician is suspected by all, is it not true? A dangerous existence–

PUSHKIN: There is a certain adventure in living on the edge of disaster.

WOMAN: The Magician spreads ideas near and far that many find uncomfortable.

There he holds the fire of Prometheus – a gift to mortals on earth

PUSHKIN: Oh ho, granny, you know the audience you play for.

An extra five kopeks for this fortune.

WOMAN: (Ignoring the remark) But is it not further true, child, that the magician is half

...the charlatan? His cures quack remedies. Above his head the number one, you see it?

One is the number of action, impetuous action.

You take risks but do well not to deceive yourself.

PUSHKIN: Ah, you do not understand the pleasures of the gaming table.

WOMAN: The Magician has become like a god – this is true –

but in doing so he has lost sight of his own soul.

PUSHKIN: Has he sold it?

WOMAN: I do not follow.

PUSHKIN: Surely the greatest gamble. Tell me, what will you wager that the cards turn a good fortune?

WOMAN: I am not the gambler.

PUSHKIN: The stakes, I’ll double them.

WOMAN: It will do no good; the outcome is beyond me. The cards are spread.

PUSHKIN: So, the cards fix the future, is that it?

WOMAN: Fix? No, read. But what do they read? Do they read the clash of random forces,

swirling about, drowning a man, this called destiny, though it is not?

This is lack of destiny. Or do they read the will of a man,

he who has ridden out the storm and chosen his own path? I do not know.

PUSHKIN: Unfortunate.

WOMAN: Why?

PUSHKIN: (With bravado) You see, I refuse to play the part of the buffoon even for God himself.

WOMAN: Do you wish me to continue?

PUSHKIN: Do not oblige yourself.

(WOMAN begins to pick up cards)

No, go on please.

WOMAN: Now we see the future. (She stares at the cards)

There are many contradictions here.

But – how can it be said? – the contradictions themselves are part of a larger unity.

PUSHKIN: Please be clear, grandmother.

WOMAN: All right. I will a little look. The first cards are propitious.

The six of pentacles, called coins by some.

And the eight of pentacles. You see, I think, the coins falling into waiting hands

and next the apprentice working at a trade.

The rewards are his for a job well done.

PUSHKIN: Very good. Money may be coming my way soon, is that it?

And a job. No doubt a commission. Reading the cards is not so difficult.

I’ll outsmart you at your own game. (A pause.) Why are you frowning?

WOMAN: My quick student, the next step of the journey is not so pleasant.

Here is the six of wands. Here is the victor on his horse,

the garland crowning his head.

But you see he rides upside down. This a victory is not, a defeat instead.

PUSHKIN: Trouble is it? Of what sort?

WOMAN: The six of wands is the card of travels. Perhaps you are to be–

PUSHKIN: –sent off?

WOMAN: This is possible. The next card, the four of swords,

is often the card of imprisonment or exile.

PUSHKIN: So, my pen will catch up to me. I have been stupid.

Well, no matter, I am weary with the noise of balls and turning morning into midnight.

(The others present quietly make excuses among themselves, shake hands, and gradually steal away over the next few moments. PUSHKIN does not notice. hen the others have left, enter GALOIS. He sits between WOMAN and PUSHKIN and watches)

WOMAN: Yes, the pattern becomes clear, like a crystal.

Next, the eight of cups. You see, as I do, the traveler turning away from his past.

PUSHKIN: Following the four of swords?

WOMAN: Yes.

PUSHKIN: More of the same?

WOMAN: It could well be.

PUSHKIN: Do you mean a second exile?

WOMAN: A second exile. It is possible.

PUSHKIN: One exile too many. It’s ridiculous.

Change the fortune. I don’t like it.

What can I give you to prevent it? Will you bargain?

WOMAN: How can I strike the bargain?

PUSHKIN: Surely you. Isn’t that your trade?

WOMAN: You confuse me, young man.

PUSHKIN: Do I? Well, no matter. It is all a poor man’s drivel.

WOMAN: A second exile then. But perhaps it is to be spiritual.

PUSHKIN: Why do you say that?

WOMAN: To regain what the spirit has lost is necessary.

PUSHKIN: Be clear, I beg you. Your vagueness is that of a bad poet.

WOMAN: To regain the soul is the chance given to you by the next card.

PUSHKIN: You are bargaining.

WOMAN: No, I simply show you -

PUSHKIN: The Hanged Man! (Quietly) Am I to die?

WOMAN: An easy prediction, yes? No. Now I see in your life the great contradiction.

There is the Hanged Man; there, next to it, rests the card of love, spilled.

I have seen you with the young women. In your many love affairs, love is lost.

PUSHKIN: I follow my feelings, grandmother. How is that false?

WOMAN: Unless it be the scorn of women, these are not feelings.

PUSHKIN: I do not understand.

WOMAN: You will not, Magician, unless you follow the Hanged Man:

(As in a trance)

I know that I hung

in the windy tree

for nine full nights

Wounded by the spear

Consecrated to Wotan

and offering to myself

on the tree

Whose roots are unknown.

PUSHKIN: Be clear woman! Must I ask you a third time? I dislike being toyed with.

If you are threatening my life, out with it!

WOMAN: You do not, Magician, understand the Hanged Man.

Voluntary is the sacrifice–you see the halo which circles his head.

Magician, on the World Tree you must renounce the laws of man.

There, after you have sacrificed yourself and have become one

with the greater laws, then the self will be found;

there will you regain what has been lost.

PUSHKIN: You are clever, grandmother. You would have me throw over my friends,

women, and my career, for what – a soul? Is that your bargain?

To sell me a soul? I see through you now. Your disguise is not clever enough.

WOMAN: My offer is only the Hanged Man. Someday you may understand.

PUSHKIN: Ah, this is tiresome; I’ve had enough.

WOMAN: There are five more cards.

(PUSHKIN freezes and stares at the table)

Do you wish that I should continue?

PUSHKIN: Yes. Go on.

WOMAN: There is trouble.

(PUSHKIN stares fixedly)

Yes, it is to be. The ten of swords is the worst of all cards.

A man pierced by ten swords cannot be read well.

(GALOIS covers the card with his hand. PUSHKIN removes Galois’ hand and picks up the card)

PUSHKIN: Me?

WOMAN: It cannot be said. Great danger in your life, years from now. Ten, perhaps, fifteen, who knows.

PUSHKIN: Details! I must have details! The next cards, a knight, a king. These must be the clue. The knight on a horse–

WOMAN: A horseman, yes. The knight of wands, the king of wands, reversed the both. Trouble from the court of wands. The court of wands is fair-haired, it is always so.

PUSHKIN: A fair-haired man. The king? The Tzar? A powerful man? A powerful man with fair hair. Maybe white hair?

WOMAN: It is far away; we will have to wait and see.

PUSHKIN: (Pacing) So, one catastrophe after another. How can I prevent it?

Should I avoid St. Petersburg? Yes, the north is harmful to me.

Escape? But to where? Ah, it’s preposterous.

Horseman or horses. White-haired horses. Avoid the cavalry and the horseguardsmen.

Ridiculous! Half my friends are in the cavalry.

White-haired men. I’ll be white-haired soon enough at this rate. There must a way–

WOMAN: If your roots are in the world of men, you will trip. If you have followed the Hanged Man

and understood the self, the danger will be avoided. That is the only way–

PUSHKIN: The only way is to rid myself of fortune tellers. I say to you -

WOMAN: (Calmly) But you see, the Sun shines down on you. Great fame will be yours.

PUSHKIN: (Suddenly relieved) Good news at last. Well, we knew it had to be.

WOMAN: Yet, in fame, there is isolation; you see it. Here is a child basking in the garden of the Sun,

but a wall separates him from the world of ordinary men.

PUSHKIN: Are all fortunes so hard to bear?

You exile me once, then again, and yet a third time.

You offer me nothing, grandmother, nothing except loneliness.

I have never felt so alone as I do now this I am cold. I do not like it.

Where is this chill coming from? You! You have caused it!

Let me be warm. Where are my friends? Has the devil taken them all?

Does not a one of them stand by me?

What have you done with them, old woman? Begone, I will not be seduced!

WOMAN: One card still remains.

(PUSHKIN freezes. A long pause as each waits for the other)

PUSHKIN: Well?

WOMAN: The Fool.

PUSHKIN: (Laughing hysterically) The Fool? So, the outcome is clear.

WOMAN: No, it is…it is the Fool at the end of the journey. The expression is serene, yes serene.

(Expansively) He has transformed the self, and in the self transformed, has transformed the world.

The Fool ignores the precipice opening at his feet. He ignores the dog biting at his leg.

All of them he ignores because he knows he will not be harmed. He is immortal.

This is your reward, urodyvy (юродивый).

PUSHKIN: (Laughing nervously) You see, I am in a cold sweat over your obscurities.

You see a defeated soldier and I am thrust into exile.

A picture of a man hanging by his foot from a post becomes Wotan and the World Tree.

You, grandmother, are better at weaving tales than myself.

But your tales are defective. You have not even mentioned in your cards

the coming revolution where we will all be–

WOMAN: No revolution for you, mal’chik (мальчик).

PUSHKIN: Ah, your crystal is fogged.

My friends, I see, had the good sense to tire of this charade earlier.

I, on the other hand, have been a fool to listen to this.

(He pays her) On your way.

(Exit WOMAN and GALOIS. PUSHKIN is alone. There is a knock on the door.)

PUSHKIN: Yes. (Enter a SERVANT)

PUSHKIN: Aleksandr Sergeyevich?

PUSHKIN: I am he.

SERVANT: I passed your friends on the street. They said you would be here.

My master told me to give you this.

PUSHKIN: And who is your master?

SERVANT: Korsakov, an old schoolmate of yours.

PUSHKIN: Of course. And what is this?

SERVANT: Money, Sir. A gambling debt he owed you.

He asked me to bring it. Thank you.

(SERVANT bows and exits, leaving PUSHKIN alone. As the lights fade, the Gregorian chant, the Dies Irae, is heard. An orchestral chime accompaniment should be provided. This may be a simple tolling. The chant continues through the opening of the next scene.)

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· The complete poem in Russian reads:

Давайте пить и веселиться,

Давайте жизнью играть.

Пусть чернь слепая суетится

Не нам безумной подражать.

Пусть наша ветреная млодость

Потонет в неге и вине,

Пусть изменяющая радость

Нам улыбнётся хоть во сне.

Когда же юность лёким дымом

Умчит весёлья юных дней,

Тогда у старости отымем

Всё, что отымется у ней.